


tell me (what's on your mind)

by asahinakokomi



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), The Three Caballeros (1944)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 01:06:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16629962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asahinakokomi/pseuds/asahinakokomi
Summary: "Date you?" Donald asks. His eyes are wide. "Both of you? Like, at the same time?"





	tell me (what's on your mind)

i.

It’s subtle. The way José hints.

Wait. No. Actually, it isn’t subtle at all. It’s just that the ending conclusion is so abstract and non-conforming; it takes Donald a little longer to understand. Most people wouldn’t understand, at least that’s what Donald would like to believe.

ii.

Panchito and José are both good roommates. They live together easily, and have a spacious place thanks to Donald. Scrooge had (begrudgingly) graciously offered them two separate bedrooms respectively; though Panchito’s bedroom is practically useless since he sleeps with José. Which is fine, that’s how it’s been since the beginning. But recently José has started to ask Donald if he wants to sleep with them. In the same room, in the same bed, with the two of them – all three of them together. He asks every night, and obviously Donald finds it ridiculous.

 

Panchito and José are together, as in dating, and that doesn’t bother Donald. If anything he’s happy for them but sometimes his heart drums a little too fast when they kiss in front of him and sometimes his eyes linger and sometimes he’s just very confused. As Della affectionately described her twin, he’s simply a ‘repressed gay’. 

Which is ridiculous, he thinks. 

His friends are attractive; “hot” as Della had probably the best way of describing them. They look good together, so on occasion Donald finds himself yearning for a semblance of what they have, which is totally normal, right? Not that he’s actually interested in other people, namely it’s just them. So, even if the question José now asks on a nightly basis is ridiculous, with Della silently nodding in encouragement, sometimes Donald thinks about saying yes. Wonders what it would be like to...nah. He won’t think about that.

It’s stupid.

Until Donald feels fingers dishevel his currently hat-less hair, and when he looks up, sees Panchito’s beaming face hovering above him. “What are you thinking about, amigo? Anything?” Panchito’s smile both warm and welcoming – almost too welcoming because Donald finds himself tempted to actually say what’s on his mind. The thing is, he doesn’t really know what’s on his mind, because he can’t pinpoint the feeling.

Donald just shrugs in response, “Not you,” He responds, almost annoyed, but Panchito knows better. He walks around and sits next to him on the couch. Panchito chuckles, and he looks at Donald. Donald is confused again. “You look cute when you’re pissed off,” Panchito gives Donald a toothy grin, bringing his gloved hand up to place his hand on Donald’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb. 

He can feel the hue of his skin reddening. And Donald feels hot, he almost leans into the hand, presses his cheek against it. It’s decidedly a bad idea, so he props himself up instead, but his eyes stay on Panchito.

They jolt at the sound of José sinking into the couch beside them. José leans against Donald, and Panchito’s body is pressed into his other side. It feels right in a way that Donald can’t explain, which is frustrating because he is good at explaining, he thinks. “Want to go out tonight?” José asks. “We could get dressed up and go somewhere fancy for dinner.” He props his head up into the nook of Donald’s shoulder.

Donald worries his beak. “I have an early class tomorrow,” he says.

“Tudo bem. We stay in.” José’s weight falls completely against him.

“Pick a good movie,” Panchito collapses into Donald’s lap, “Oh. Something with cute animals. I think I saw a documentary on Netflix…”

Donald doesn’t bother telling them to go somewhere without him. He doubts they’d listen and lately it’s like they’ve been purposely sticking to him. It’s suffocating, but Donald can’t find it in himself to mind too much. He secretly enjoys the adoration, but along with it comes a creeping sense of dread. Change. It feels like things are changing.

But now Panchito is lying across his lap, and Jose’s head is on his shoulder; so he doesn’t question it.

iv.

They’re all at a party. A college party that they weren’t necessarily invited to, they definitely weren’t some of the more — ‘popular’ people on campus, but Panchito and José always had an ear out for prestigious events like this. Donald wanted to say no. He should have said no, he thinks. After all, nothing good can come out of a Friday night, off-campus party. But the latter two said it would be fun over and over and over again, and figuring how Donald’s at said party, he concedes he might as well at least try to have a decent time.

José is wearing a red varsity jacket with their school’s initials on the back, no shirt underneath. The upper half is left unbuttoned, revealing a decent portion of his chest, and some waist-high jeans. On the contrary, Panchito’s outfit is more laid back, wearing an unzipped, baggy, color block windbreaker, a white shirt with some obscure Latin artist and orange camo pants. Donald, the party expert he is, simply comes in a baggy black hoodie and some jeans. 

They’re dancing now, so he finds it’s hard to keep up with the flow, especially with the way his heart is racing. Which is strange because it isn’t like this is the first time he’s danced with them, obviously. They’ve danced plenty; silly dancing before. This feels different. José is so close. His eyes are open, beak formed in a calm smile. Panchito is behind Donald, and he can feel warm breath in the crook of his neck. There are hands on Donald’s hips, he isn’t sure who's and he’s sandwiched in between Panchito and José and confused again.

But it’s just a party and it’s just dancing.

He’s had two drinks but is – according to Panchito and José – a lightweight. So it may just be the surge of alcohol that causes his chest to swell between the two. José’s had three drinks; his breath smells like pineapples and cherries. Donald is tempted to lean closer, so naturally he does the opposite and leans backward. Now Panchito’s chest is pressed against his back.

Donald laughs. What else can he do? It’s forced and loud and his throat is dry. “Can this really be called dancing?” he asks. It’s so hot in between the two; but the little space between them is so cramped he can’t even move his hand to wipe the sweat off of his beak. 

José chuckles and brings his face closer. Great, because that’s exactly what Donald needed. He makes his way towards Donald’s ear. “Porquê?” He asks in bubbly Portuguese. “Are you not having fun?” He brings his hand down Donald’s neck then lower, below his chest and abdomen, his hand just barely grazes Donald’s lower area. Donald jumps.

He sucks in air from his nose and huffs out. “No! I mean, yeah. Psssh, I’m having fun. I can have fun, I’m totally fun.” The alcohol is talking and Donald clamps his beak shut once he realizes he’s rambling. “I’m the most fun,” he adds dumbly in afterthought.

Panchito comes in from behind him, places his beak near Donald’s ear. “¿De verdad?” He sounds amused, voice deep, sensing vibrations throughout Donald’s entire being. Donald thinks he can feel the curve of Panchito’s beak form into a smile against him. He shivers. “Prove it.”

Donald wets his beak and swallows. Fun; ah, hmm… “I mean — yeah, maybe, but—“  
“You could do a dare,” José says. His hand is on top of Panchito’s hand, and Panchito’s hand is on Donald’s hip and it feels nice. But Donald wouldn’t admit that, and should also probably leave because it’s bad it’s bad it’s bad; it’s not.

“Yeah, whatever,” Donald says. No, no, no. “Name it.” He puffs out her chest, all too aware of how it’s pressed against José’s.

“Kiss someone,” José says. There is a hard glint in his eye, and his jaw is set tight.

Donald freezes, but Panchito continues to sway against him. He turns around to face Panchito, sees his eyes are slightly hooded and he has an even bigger smile than José’s, though not quite as mischievous. “If you want,” Panchito says. 

It’s meant to be reassuring.

It’s not.

He pulls away from the two, itches his neck and wipes his beak – it’s so hot. Donald tugs at the neckline of his hoodie, though it isn’t constricting. Panchito and José are still watching him, their eyes are dark, but it could just be the dimness of the room. Idly, Donald looks around to see other people dancing. He doesn’t want to kiss anyone here, except for maybe...Donald turns to look at the two again. No.

“I need to breathe,” Donald says before walking away. There are dozens of bedrooms in this building; he just has to find one. Donald enters the first unlocked door he finds, only to be startled at the site of a boy with his head in between some pink-haired girls thighs. Donald hears her voice before stumbling out with a mumbled, “S-sorry,” he doesn’t even think the couple heard.

The next room is empty. The bed is blue with crumpled sheets, and the room itself smells like corn chips but it will do, it’s not like it matters. Nothing really matters except them, and that’s muddled. Why does his heart beat so fast when he looks at them and why does he only crave intimacy with them and why are they such an ideal. It isn’t normal, and it’s stupid of him to be so confused with his own feelings.

The door creaks open; in comes Panchito and José. They aren’t smiling or teasing. José sits to Donald’s right, Panchito to the left. Panchito places his hand on Donald’s thigh. “What’s wrong?” And the heat that rolls through Donald’s stomach when Panchito slides his hand up and down his thigh is what’s wrong. “You’ve been acting weird these last few weeks.”

Donald bites the inside of his beak. He thinks that maybe he started to become aware around the time that José started asking him to come to the room at night. 

Why did he have to start asking that stupid question in the first place?

José stares at Donald’s cheek since Donald refuses to look either of them full on. “You can tell us, sim? I thought we weren’t going to hide anything.” José pokes Donald’s cheek.

“I’m fine!” He says too loudly. “I just think that the prank was dumb and don’t understand what it has to do with being fun.” He turns to look at José, but still can’t quite meet his eyes. He pinches the bottom of his beak with his teeth to look more scornful.

“You didn’t want to kiss anyone?” José asks. Donald can’t help but think that José looks almost disappointed. His eyes go downcast to Donald’s hands. 

“Have you kissed anyone?” Panchito asks, “You haven’t, right? You would have said something.”

And this is embarrassing! Awful! Terrible! Donald falls forward and places his face into his hands. “No,” he mutters. But in his defense he’s been busy and hasn’t had the luxury of experiencing romance. “But by choice, obviously!” He says, popping his head up and looking at both of them in warning. Their eyes are soft, so are their hands. So...beautiful. 

José grabs his face, his thumb digging into the divot of Donald’s cheek. Slowly he edges in. His eyes are hazy, and Donald isn’t sure whether he’s drunk or not. “Donald,” he says, “what do you think about me?”

The atmosphere is heavy, it feels like it’s physically weighing down on Donald’s body. Donald can still feel Panchito’s hand on his thigh; feel the heat coming off his body. This is off. The dynamic is all wrong. Donald takes José’s hand off his face. “I think this is insane.” He begins to stand, but Panchito catches his hand.

“Donald, wait,” Panchito says. He pulls Donald down slowly so that he’s sitting again. “We love you,” he says. The word makes Donald’s heart almost pop out of his chest. Out of context it would sound like a declaration, and Donald’s tempted to say it back. Panchito puts his hand on Donald’s wrist, his thumb resting against the pulse.

“Desculpe,” José says with his soft voice and soft smile and soft laugh, ugh. Donald looks at him, beak ajar. “The dare was stupid. I just thought that if you had to kiss somebody you might…” he bites down and leans in. Over Donald’s shoulder he nods, presumably at Panchito, and then turns to Donald again. His face and mouth are too close, but Donald would feel like a coward if he pulled away and that is one thing he most definitely is not. So, he lifts his chin and looks José head on. “Tell me to stop,” José says. Wait — what? Donald finds that now he is paralyzed. Not when José is leaning in and in and getting closer. His beak is on Donald’s.

It’s just a faint press. Donald’s eyes are opened, José’s are not. Donald, who can still feel Panchito’s hand on his wrist. “Stop,” he says, barely audible in way of a warm beak on his own. José obliges and pulls away, but the sensation of him is still there, like a bruise but not painful. It feels like summer, like light, like heat. His palms are sweaty, and Donald wants to move his hands but Panchito still has a hold on him.

Panchito.

“Està bien,” Panchito says. Donald can’t see his face, isn’t really looking for it; but he can hear the smile in Panchito’s voice. It’s addling, whatever is going on. Donald can’t grasp onto it, yet his body is scorching. He feels – not for the first time – out of the loop. “We love you,” Panchito repeats. He brings his hand to Donald’s face and pulls on him so that Donald is forced to look into his eyes.

“Huh?” Donald sputters. He is trapped between the two of them in a situation he cannot control. It feels like falling. José grabs onto his other hand, but Donald’s still toppling.

“Did you not want me to kiss you? Would you rather only Panchito or—“ he stops and looks at their joined hands hesitantly. As if he’s thinking of pulling away. Out of reflex Donald holds on tight, squeezes so that José won’t leave. “I was your first,” he says, gives this terrible self-indulgent smile that makes Donald’s stomach churn.  
Panchito’s fingers are still pressed against Donald’s face, and he tugs so that Donald comes towards him. 

Again, close faces. 

And again: just what the hell is happening? Donald doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol. Maybe he had a little bit too much and is now passed out having an extremely vivid and weird dream. That might make sense.

“Is this for real?” Donald asks, he sounds slow; his tongue is heavy.

José giggles and trails his fingers up Donald’s arm. “We love you.” Donald’s starting to become frustrated with those words. “Of course it’s real. We’ve wanted this for a long time, but,” he stops.

“You can’t just bring this stuff up, can you?” Panchito finishes a moment later, smiling. He is still close and his beak bumps against Donald’s.

“What stuff?” Donald asks, though he’s leaning in. When Panchito’s beak touches his, he freezes. Panchito’s mouth is still curved, still smiling or mocking or – Donald isn’t sure. He wants to not care about this, to want to leave. But his stomach is coiled tight and he keeps his feet grounded.

Panchito kisses him, Donald lets him, this time Donald kisses back, eyes closed. It’s like taking first steps, clumsy and uncoordinated but liberating.

He moves slowly, his beak parting to take in the bottom of Donald’s. Donald finds himself following the movements. José’s hand travels up and down his arm still, and he feels weight against his back. “You’re doing good,” Donald hears in his ear, smells vodka and fruit. Donald burns. Something travels from stomach to groin at the sound of José’s voice, and his skin tingles. “Open your mouth.”

Donald does. He doesn’t even mean to follow the instruction, but he does. Panchito traces his tongue along Donald’s lower beak before sliding in to brush against Donald’s. Donald doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but in the dark everything feels like more. He lets out a sound into Panchito’s mouth when he feels a warm pressure below his ear. 

José.

Donald pulls away, looking at Panchito. He leans into the hand holding his face before turning to José. José, whose cheeks are faint red, who stares with glazed eyes and grins. Donald kisses him. It’s rough; José is more eager now – less fearful about what he does. Panchito grabs hold of Donald’s hands and moves them against José’s sides with his beak grazing Donald’s neck.

José bites on Donald’s beak, pulls. It hurts, and Donald finds himself addicted to the sensation of José’s teeth and Panchito’s hands.

v. 

Polyamory is not a situation Donald Duck ever thought he’d face. After a night of drunken kisses and light groping, he thought that maybe it was just the alcohol. But now they’re back at the mansion and Panchito and José are both so expectant.

“Date you?” Donald asks. His eyes are wide. “Both of you? Like at the same time?”

“We already pretty much are,” Panchito says, his tone is matter-of-fact, and Donald finds himself confused and annoyed all at once. “You just don’t do the fun parts.” 

Donald glares and José follows suit. “Estoy bromeando!” He raises his hand, head tilting to the side.

“But how does that even -– I mean, —“ Donald groans. What exactly does he mean? He looks over to Panchito, walks closer that he can see the details of his face. Inspects him. “You had a say in this?” He asks warily.

Panchito’s beak quirks up and he kisses the corner of Donald’s beak. “Duh.”

Donald feels heat flush against his cheek and wonders how red his entire being is. He really shouldn’t be so affected by a simple kiss, and yet. Donald turns to José. 

“But this was your doing,” he says with his finger pointed accusingly at José. He walks and walks until José is forced to step backwards, still smiling. “If this is another one of your jokes…”

Donald’s hands are clammy and shaky, so he wipes them against his shirt before clasping them up together. “The two of you,” he starts, and then stops – he doesn’t actually know where he’s wanting to go with this. “The two of you – it would...make everything crazy. Everything. And there would be,” Donald pauses, and closes his eyes and opens then after a second. “Chaos.” There, that sounded calm, collected.

“Ah, but what’s wrong with a little chaos?” José takes one step in, stopping only when Donald scowls. He pouts. “I love you,” he says, then, “Do you love me?”

Donald looks away sharply, crosses his arms. Stupid Question. “Well, yeah,” he mutters. “But—”

“And I love you.” Donald looks up at Panchito. Both of them seem hesitant, careful maybe even a little scared. Love – that’s not new. That isn’t something that’s just entered their dynamic. Of course Donald cares deeply about the both of them. But there are different ways to care. There are right and wrong ways to care.

“That isn’t the problem,” Donald says. “There’s three of us. And we work with the two of you and the three of us…and me. I mean—“ Donald fumbles over his words, dragging his hand over his face. “Not in three. That’s not what I’m saying—”

“What are you saying then?” José asks, her eyebrows are raised, and Panchito looks just as confused.

“It wouldn’t work. Like, it would throw off the balance, y’know?” That sounds right. What would being in a relationship with them even entail? It isn’t like he’s experienced or anything, he’s been too busy for those kinds of things. And dating two people at once, even? It seems like a reach despite the appeal, but the longing, that odd feeling in his gut that says: yes. 

Him entering the relationship – for lack of better words – could mess things up beyond repair. It wouldn’t be worth ruining what they have.

José grabs his arm lightly. He slides his hand down until fingers brush against Donald’s pulse point. Panchito is close too, not touching, but Donald can feel his breath drift across his left cheek if he focuses enough. “It does not have to be a huge shift,” José says. “We do not have to change anything. But…think about it.” He kisses Donald’s on the cheek.  
Panchito nods and ruffles Donald’s hair affectionately before going to sit down on the couch.

They don’t bring it up again that night; but José once again ask Donald if he wants to sleep with them.

Donald stalls before saying no.

 

Donald says yes.

It’s just, one morning he’s extremely aware of everything. He wakes up to two pairs of arms around him, Panchito’s loud snuffling snores pressing into him blended with José’s quiet ones. Normally, this would be an annoyance, especially with the puddle of drool José is leaving on his shirt, but he just can’t bring himself to make a big deal about it.

He makes coffee for three, receives two kisses on the cheek. It feels right, in the brisk of the morning when Donald can think clearly. And if he thinks it feels right, then it most likely is right – maybe. So, Donald says yes.

 

 

 

“Yes?” José asks, his eyes sparkling.

Donald’s cheeks heat up, but he nods. He’s in the living room now, standing in front of a white board and facing the two.  
Panchito smiles a little before asking, “Are you…sure!?” 

“I’m sure that it’s something we could try, at least,” Donald says, trying to make his voice sound hard. It wavers but just barely. He still doesn’t know how it will all work, though he did watch a couple episodes of Sister Wives to get an idea. It did not help. “But we need to have rules. At least for now.”

“Rules?” They echo in unison. Their beaks tilt down, not into a frown but more in a show of feigned confusion.

“Rules.”

Donald turns his back to them and pulls the wet erase marker from the shaft on the whiteboard. He writes: RULES. Underlined, big, all caps. “Rules,” he grounds, though it feels silly. Do normal relationships have rules? And does it work differently for relationships with more than two people? He second-guesses himself before turning around to see Panchito smiling with José’s head on his shoulder.

“Okay, tell us the rules,” José says.  
Panchito sets his jaw and gives a tight nod.

Donald grins, but only when he’s turned around again. He doesn’t want them to think he’s not serious about his rules. With the marker, he writes: NO SEX. He hears a sharp gasp come from Panchito.  
“No sex?” Panchito asks. José doesn’t say anything but his eyes are wider than normal. Is it really that big of a deal?

He clears his throat. “No.”

José sinks deeper into Panchito’s shoulder. “Like…ever?”

Donald looks away, blushing, crossing his arms over his chest. He swallows. “I didn’t say that.” After taking in a small breath he looks at the two again. 

This is embarrassing. 

“That’s normal,” Donald states. “To wait, I mean.” After all it wasn’t that long ago that she had his first kiss, how can he just jump to that? He feels like he’s behind on everything, but at the same time, Donald refuses to doubt himself again. He’s made his decision, and he isn’t a fickle person.

“But we have been dating,” Panchito says. José elbows him. “Ow.”

“What’s the next rule?” José asks. Panchito is still sulking, but he bounces up and looks at the board with only mild disdain.

“Right. Of course, the next one.” Donald chews his beak once his back is facing them. What was the next rule? He read a clear set somewhere online. If only he had printed it out and brought it with him… Oh! 

“We should...go on dates, I guess.”  
“What do you call the three of us going out every Wednesday and Friday?” José asks.

“That was different.” Donald clucks his tongue. Something about honesty, he thinks. He writes honesty on the board. It seems obvious enough, especially after everything the three of them have been through; to the point of Donald now being invited into their relationship. Neither Panchito nor José say anything about the rule, so Donald moves on.

There is nothing to move on from. Really, the no sex rule was the biggest thing.

Donald puts down his marker and turns. “I have no more. Not now,” he says, fiddling with his hands.

Panchito stands up and raises his hand. “I do!”

“What?” Donald asks.

He sees scarlet fur whirl past his face as Panchito rushes towards the whiteboard. He uncaps the marker and writes: MUST SLEEP IN THE BED WITH US AT LEAST 3 TIMES A WEEK !!! <3

Donald looks over it a few times. “Got a problem with that?” Panchito asks when Donald doesn’t respond.

Donald once again finds his body burning. His beak has gone dry. “No. That’d be okay, I guess.”

“Good!” Panchito leans in and presses his beak against the side of Donald’s face.  
José rises easily from the couch, his cheeks a darker shade of green. And Donald’s suddenly aware that now he has two very attractive boyfriends. Boyfriends? He thinks that’s what they are. It sounds right, strange, but what other word would work? He swallows in when José gets closer. José grabs his hand.

“Question?” José asks.

“Eh?” Donald mutters, and then, “What?” because he can’t get too flustered every time one of them gets close, now.

“Can I kiss you?”

Donald nods slowly. “If you want...” he says. José chuckles and presses their beaks together, and from the side Donald can hear a chirped, “Oh, me next!”

**Author's Note:**

> three caballeros chillin in a hot tub five feet apart cuz theyre not gay


End file.
